


Always

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-27
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:47:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Valentine fluff. Malcolm's POV. (02/14/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: For Zoe, Who wanted Malcolm stalking Trip, bodies pressed against bulkheads and Valentines, if possible.  


* * *

There he goes. 

You could almost set your watch by him. 

From the bridge, the Engineering diagnostic takes precisely 52 minutes, 34 seconds. The Commander seems to derive inordinate pleasure in stretching that 52 minutes, 34 seconds to an hour, an hour and ten, an hour and twenty. It's not as if T'Pol, or Hoshi for that matter, will EVER respond to his flirting. Not on the Bridge. Who's he trying to kid? 

I've told him. Well, hinted, that his behaviour might be misconstrued. He just laughed. Or at least, sniggered. He said that Hoshi and T'Pol knew exactly what he was doing. And then he got, well, embarrassed. Blushed bright red in fact. Then he left. And then T'Pol looked at me with what I can only describe as a pitying expression. 

Pity? From a Vulcan? That'll be the day. 

There's a certain hum in Engineering. It's very soothing, if you allow it to be. Right now, I'm not feeling very soothed. In fact, I'm feeling royally pissed off. The fact that I'm pissed off at a superior officer and therefore will not be able to vent my spleen only deepens my feelings of pissedoffedness. 

All I need to do is raise an eyebrow and Rostov is pointing in the direction of a Jeffries' Tube. So that's where he's hiding. 

Tonight, all I've had from Hoshi is how great Trip is. How cool he is under pressure. How smart he is with the engines. A phrase that my nephew sometimes employs comes back to me, 'Well, D'oh.' 

As if I didn't know that Trip IS great, he IS cool, whatever that is, and yes he IS smart. Why's Hoshi telling ME this? It's not as if I can disagree with her. 

And there's that pitying look again. 

I wouldn't call it stalking, as such. I am under orders after all. Slightly unusual orders. Or, at least, the orders were given in a slightly unusual way. 

First Contacts can be really tricky. And this species, these Valens, do have some strange rituals regarding what we would call 'working relationships'. 

So why do I get the feeling that I've been set up? Why did Captain Archer specifically order me not to let Commander Tucker out of my sight? And why was he smiling when he said it? 

If any of the Valens even try to harm a hair on Trip's perfectly formed head, I'll rip those jaunty little, conffetti type scales off their love heart shaped bodies. 

Mind you, it can't have been easy, evolving into a body shaped like that. The gravity on their planet must be horrendous. 

It's dark. Too dark. One moment the deck was normal. The next the lights have gone out. 

This must be it. This is the moment that Archer must have been anticipating. Remind me never to play Poker with the Captain. 

What are you thinking? Your Chief Engineer is in danger. 

There's no where to go, but I know that Trip will be safer against the wall rather than in the open corridor, so I scoop him up and deposit him against the bulk head. 

My fingers find his mouth and I lay one gently against his lips, urging him to be quiet. I can feel his nod of aquiesence. 

So far, so good. 

I turn my head, straining all my senses to pinpoint the Valen threat. They must have cut power to this deck. Why I don't know. But it has to do with Trip. They want him, for whatever reason. The Captain knew it. That's why he put me in charge of Trip's safety. And I've let them both down. 

Oh, bollocks. 

Well, I can at least go out saving the one person in this universe, or the next, who matters to me. 

I can't quite believe I'm doing it, but I turn into Trip, find his lips with my own and kiss him like there's no tomorrow. And, knowing my luck, there won't be. 

Then I draw my phaser and prepare to do battle. 

The lights come up. 

"Told you!" 

Captain Archer strides forward, insufferably smug, "Trip, Malcolm. We're all very happy for you." He stretches out a hand. Trip pumps it enthusiastically, "You win, Jonny. I never would have believed it." 

"Believed what?" my voice is drowned out by cat calls and congratulations. Since no one seems to be talking to me directly, even the ones saying my name, I am reduced to listening in, what I have to say is, mounting horror. 

"Thought he'd never catch on..." 

"You gave me hope, Jon..." 

"We have been of service?" 

"'Been waiting a year for this..." 

"What's a friend for?" 

"Your assistance is appreciated." 

Oh, My, Sainted, Aunt. 

I am not scurrying. Small mammals scurry. Grown men do not. 

"Where's Malcolm?" 

It's Trip's voice, querying. I, all right, yes, I scurry around the corner, out of sight. 

And now what do I do? 

Coming back to my quarters was a mistake. I've already had to fend off the Captain; just as well he said he was there as a friend, otherwise I'd be in a brig for insubordination. Phlox was more difficult; the doctor has carte blanche to go wherever he pleases. Thankfully Phlox recognised my need to be alone, perhaps he even realised how humiliated I felt. Mayweather stopped by; he talked through the door about the 'Good Old Days' at Jupiter Station; I knew he was sorry at the way things turned out. Hoshi gave me a talking to, totally inappropriate for an Ensign to a Lieutenant, but I can't blame her for that. Even Sub-commander T'pol came down to tell me what an illogical ass I was being, well, illogical, certainly. 

Trip stayed away. And who could blame him for that? 

They were in my quarters. The Valens were in my quarters. 

I had barely begun to sit upright before the Valens were casting streamers of light across the ceiling. It looked like the worst cat's cradle ever, but strangly hypnotic. I hardly registered the weight settling beside me on the bunk, but I registered Trip's voice, his rich, chocolatey tones, telling me that he loved me. That he'd always loved me. That I never had to worry about Hoshi, or T'Pol, or the Captain... 

I felt a pang of shame that I had ever doubted this beautiful man and tried to draw away, but Trip would not let me. He clasped my hand tightly and kissed my fore head. 

"Always did, always have, always will do." 

The Valens faded away. It seemed to me that they were pleased. Then my gaze fell on the corner of my bed where I could see two big, brown eyes staring intently. 

Trip laughed, a joyful sound. "Look! Even Porthos approves!" 

I shook my head as Trip shooed Porthos out the door. 

"Trip..." 

Trip shushed me with a gentle finger, just as I had done for him in that darkened corridor. "Happy Valentine's Day," he whispered. 

~the end~


End file.
